


Trophy Wife

by Oienel



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 18:33:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13840572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oienel/pseuds/Oienel
Summary: How few ill-advised words changed the course of history.





	Trophy Wife

You could imagine the music in the background. The nice, easy music – the one they like to use in the series, when they want to make sure that the audience knows that it’s a happy moment or that in a second something smirk-inducing will happen.

And you are waiting for exactly that.

The black leather swivel chair is quite comfortable. You always thought that they were in fact too sturdy, and that leather was an easy way to oversweat. Not a good addiction to a professional workplace. Chair should allow breathing.

There is an air of authority in this room, and the noises coming from the outside are only amplifying that feeling. Hushed conversations and steps on the marble tell you the story of people outside.

You open a file resting on the desk (one of those too sturdy, too big to fit nicely into a home office – the one you only see in the public offices – it shouldn’t be surprising), you catch the sight of the very familiar sign and a photo.

The photo catches your attention, it’s a thing you actually needed, the original, in better resolution than the one that came in the discovery. It’s enough to move you out of your place, your feet go up, when you bring your knees closer to your chest, to put your feet on the ground, so you can reach for the photo.

But then you hear sounds outside closing in, specific ones, the ones you’ve been waiting for.

You immediately put your feet back up on the desk, leaning back in the chair. Through the tinted glass you can see the silhouette of a man. He stops to say something to his female companion and they laugh.

You can see how the female throws her head back, and how her hand rests on his arm. Had it been the other way around someone would be filing harassment suit, but in this configuration the worst could happen is the gossip page note.

Man says something, and woman walks away. Even through tinted window you can see how he looks after her walking away, probably subtly ogling her behind. You can see how his hand is blindly reaching the handle, and a second later, he opens the doors.

You know that the first thing he sees are your legs on his desk. He can see the feminine legs, black pumps on your feet, and the pencil skirt hugging your thighs and hips. His eyebrow jumps a little bit, but you can tell, that he recognizes you – before he even sees your face.

And that’s a tale telling sign.

But then again, there is not a lot of people that would dare to take this particular man’s chair.

You open your mouth only when doors close.

“Well, good morning, Deputy State Attorney. Would you like me to clear your chair?” You ask, voice sweet, not your usual pitch, saved only for those occasions. You pat the armrest, and he smiles, that lopsided smirk you got to know so well, eyes casting down, not in shame, but in defiance.

“Oh, no, please, make yourself at home.” He says, sarcasm oozing from his words, and you smile in mock thanks. You won’t admit it to anyone, but you love the hostility laced with flirting you get to enjoy there.

He grabs a chair, and sits down opening his jacket, as if he was a petitioner and not you. He entwines his fingers in front of him, and looks up at you. You smile at him, knowing that it’s  going to irritate him.

Neither of you wants to be the first one to back down, but then again – you are not working on the clock. The first sign of it getting to him, is an eyebrow shooting up. The next one thumbs doing circles. And then he sighs, fixing himself in the chair, and you know you’ve got him.

“Ok, what do you need?” His voice is raspy, a note of anger shimming under his skin clearly audible.

You need many things. You need to land a new wealthy client, the quicker the better. You need to go back to your office and prepare for the next trial, you need to grab something on your way. You need to show your superiors that it was the right choice to keep you over the other, then, junior associate. Which is quite a hard thing to do, when the _other_ junior associate owns this particular office.

But none of those is something he can help you with.

“Second degree, eight years.” You say, seemingly disinterested, checking your nails.

He laughs incredulously. He has a really nice laugh, manly, deep, clear.

“If that’s the best you’ve got, we are going to trial.” You expected that. He didn’t got his title for nothing. But one should always try.

Although you are disgruntled by the fact that your calves on display did nothing to sway him. You stand up, careful not to show your goods to him, and like the gentleman he clearly is, he automatically stands up, buttoning his jacket, and straightening its hems.

“I requested jury trial.” You say matter-of-factly, as you walk around his desk, and there is a pang of annoyance visible in his eyes, but he schools himself pretty quickly.

“So, your visit here was just a curtsey call?”

You don’t answer as you walk to his doors, making a conscious effort to sway your hips.

You don’t have to look back to know he is looking at your ass.

That’s why you do it.

*

You’ve met for the first time in the waiting room. It was make-shift waiting room, made outside one of the suites of the hotel your firm have chosen for its  interviews. You were just one of many hopeful candidates, nervously tapping your finger on your knee.

He was sitting across from you, not sprawled on the chair, but she was as relaxed as it is socially acceptable, looking impeccable in his suit and styled hair. The air of confidence was inching into pure arrogance.

He winked at you back then and told you that if didn’t work out for you, you could become his trophy wife.

It annoyed the living hell out of you. This one accolade was enough to calm you down, with strong, yet calming, spirit of annoyance, and your wish to show all the men around the world that women study not to become wives, but to be successful.

In retrospect, it was your fury that allowed you to pass the interview. The two of you passed, out of hundred others, and if he was surprised to see you in the lobby on your first day, he didn’t show that.

You still don’t know if he remembers that he told you that or if he realizes how much it infuriated you. This line was something that haunted you for years. First during the first year, that line helped you to secure your position in the firm (which you got even though he had more billable hours), it helped you even when he was long gone to secure your partner position.

That was pivotal moment in your life, one that defined your relation with men you met through work. You are sure: had you never heard that, you would be living slow, perfect life with perfect husband and perfect kids.

You are not saying either is bad, but your life is certainly different from the one you’ve imagined back in the University.

But as you realized during that interview – you didn’t study so hard to quit.

And now, instead of going back home to your perfect husband, you stay late, studying case files to get your clients out of insurance claims, out of prison, out of any possible legal or criminal problem they might face. And after you are done, having left all the small work to associates you leave your office to go to one of the lounge bars. You down Long Island Ice Tea, for a quick buzz-up, and then sometimes you go home, sometimes you go to the hotel.

Only to repeat the next day.

*

You are used to not being stopped when you walk into prosecutors office. You shouldn’t feel as free  and as at home as you do, but ever since Jongdae started working here you became regular guest of those walls.

You know that losing to you hit him hard. He might have matured while working as a junior associate, but he still believed that he was better than you. Maybe he was. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe it wasn’t about gender at all, but it took him by surprise. He needed half a year to stand back on his feet, which you knew through mutual acquaintances. It scared you how much you needed to know what has happening to him, even though you weren’t willing to contact him directly. And when the information came through that he got into prosecutors office, you were relieved.

There is no denying that he formed your career.

But the news like that don’t go without a hitch. Managing partners realized that this turnout could be both bad and good for the firm. He knew know-hows of your firm in-and-out, and he could have been bottling resentment. On the other hand you knew exactly how he was working.

And since during his time at the firm you spent the most time with him, you were assigned to every case he prosecuted.

He was assigned to every case against your firm.

You were meeting daily, arguing in the court, ignoring yourselves outside of the trial room.

Until you really needed something. Your firm was defending important client in a different circuit, but most of the evidence came from your prosecutors office. You were being denied parts of the discovery, and you were at the end of your wits.

So you put on your best skirt, fighting pumps, and you marched your way into his office, back when he owned this small closet barely 3x2m.

You remember it perfectly – he was stuck behind his desk, both sides of it blocked with discovery boxes, heaps of documents on every flat surface he could reach. His hair was no longer perfectly styled, there was a stubble on his face, and his jacket was thrown on the backrest of his chair. His sleeves were rolled up, and the air in the room itself was stale – he clearly didn’t move from his seat for numerous hours.

When he looked up to see who was disturbing him, his eyes were laced with red. But he recognized you, and he allowed himself to lazily check you out, as he straightened, and then pushed back in his seat. It was such a predatory stare, shiver went down your spine.

But you could feel that there was respect in that as well. He could be appreciating your body, but he was also well aware of your skills. In that moment you were no longer trophy wife prospect.

In that moment you were equal.

“Hello.” He drawled the sounds and it was an attempt at flirt. It was surprising, he never once tried to flirt with you when you were working together. You leaned against the doorframe.

“Hello, Jongdae.” You answered, allowing yourself to mimic his intonation, and you’ve only exchanged greetings, but you were having fun. Simply.

You were having fun.

“How can I help you?” He asked, and you could feel that in his mind the case he was working on was long gone.

“That’s a good question, isn’t it, Jongdae?” You answered.” I was hoping you might have something that could be quite useful.”

“And that something would be…?”

“File with Hongik case.” You dropped it, without any cushion or sweet drawl. It was a sudden change of atmosphere, but if Jongdae was dumbfounded, he didn’t let it show.

“And I should give you that, because…?”

There was many answers to that question. More intimate, less intimate, professional and not. You could have gone anyway, but you’ve decided that professional is the best way to go.

“So 11th circuit has worse results.”

He looked at you with a blank face. It took a moment, and you were sure that he is not going to yield. But he did. He bent down, and opened one of his drawers. He scanned the files and he retrieved one manila envelope. Not really thick by all means, and that wasn’t going as planned.

He handed you the file.

“Is that it?” You asked incredulous, but still reaching for it. He snapped the file back.

“I don’t have to give it to you.” He said and suddenly you could hear how exhausted he was. “But it is what they are hiding from you.”

You didn’t ask how he knew that. It didn’t matter. Once again you reached for the envelope, and he let you take it out of his hands.

“One day I will come for a favor.” He said, and you didn’t acknowledge him, as you opened the envelope to see DNA results.

If wielded well that could have made your case.

And in the end, it did.

And that was just the first time you went to him for information. Many more were to come, and during those passing years you’ve somehow became dependant. It was a game, obviously. You could have worked without that kind of help, without prying the information out of him, but it made you work just a little bit exciting. By know you knew Jongdae like the back of your hand, you knew how he hates you, and how he hates the fact that he can’t really do without you. It’s been years since your flirtation turned into need, an itch that wasn’t ever scratched.

You both toyed with yourselves, circling around, always on your toes. He had numerous girlfriends along the way. In the office, out of it, but funnily enough, you never felt jealous. And you never stopped yourself from flirting with him.

And he was never shy in answers.

You were never blunt. That wasn’t fun. Neither of you ever dropped a hint of taking that up a level. And truth be told you were grateful for that. You were not sure if you can take it up a level anymore.

But you walked that exact route so many times, that it feels as familiar as your own office.

“Can I help you?” Question is phrased wrongly and voice is rather feminine so you stop in your tracks. It’s ASA Yoon looking at you, and you smile at her.

“No, but thank you.” You start to walk away.

“He is not in his office.” You raise your eyebrows at the hostility. At least one prosecutor holds her ground against you.

“I will wait then.”

“Oh, no, you will not.” She is smiling, and you realize that you really want to indulge her.

“And that is because…?”

“Because you are an attorney who keeps sucking vital information out of this office, and Deputy State Attorney should know better.” She is implying what the whole office seems to think, and yet, it’s not true. Oh, but you would be so great at sucking information out of Jongdae. Oh, so, _great_.

“If you suspect that something untoward is happening between me and Deputy State Attorney, you should bring charges.” If you were younger, you’d have shrugged. But you are not. “And I’d wish you good luck, but first you’d have to find evidence of things like that happening.”

That much is true. The thing is you’ve never elicited from him information you couldn’t obtain different way, and it was always information he was allowed to share with you. You never did that when you were facing against each other. Your visits to his office were only ever for fun. Except for that first time and barely handful of others you were going there to rile both of you up.

And he knew that perfectly.

Suddenly she grabs you and yanks you into her office. It sudden, and it invokes rage in you.

She presses you against the wall, and sure as hell you are filling harassment suit.

“Listen to me, bitch.” She slurs. “We know that you’ve been fucking him for years, even when he was in relationships, and that’s how you’ve earned your partnership back at the firm, but that shit? That ends now. Because you won’t allow you to make, us, women, look like whores, when we work our asses off to get ahead in life.”

She may be saying something more. She probably does. You have no idea, sheer fury getting to your head. You did all of that. You worked your ass off, you worked 100 hours a week, you slept in your office, you learned to keep fresh set of clothes in. Your work has became your home, your husband, and your children.

But it still isn’t enough. It’s still not enough and you still get to hear how insignificant person you are.

“I am suing you.” You say, mindless of ASA’s monologue, and you yank yourself free. You open the doors with all your strength and they hit a wall with a loud bang. People in the office look at you over walls of their cubicles, and it really isn’t that different than your firm. But Deputy State Attorney is standing on the other side of the room, also looking at you, brows furrowed, suit as usual impeccable.

You school yourself. You won’t allow people to see how shaken you are – second time in your life cold fury calming you down. When you walk down the rows of cubicles no one dares to look at you, and you don’t look around to see what ASA Hong is up to.

You reach Jongdae and you walk past him, opening doors to his office. You know, that now, everyone has their eyes on your back, but you don’t let yourself show how hurt you are.

Yes, you are hurt. To be humiliated by another woman? It stings.

You walk over to the desk, seemingly mindlessly opening a folder laying on the desk, while Jongdae comes in, closing the door behind him. When you are shielded from the outside world you speak up.

“Do you remember when we first met?” His steps falter for a moment, but he picks his pace and walks around the desk, opens his jacket and sits down in his chair before answering.

“Yes. It was during interviews round.” He says. Again, if he’s surprised, he doesn’t show that, allowing you to communicate what you want to.

“Do you remember what you told me back then?” You’ve never asked that. You weren’t even sure if he remembered it was you. You weren’t even sure if he _remembered_ saying that at all. It was important to you, it didn’t have to be important to him.

He exhales, shifting in his seat.

“I told you that if that doesn’t work out for you, you can be my trophy wife.” He says, and there is a modicum of shame in his voice. It somehow infuriates you even more. He doesn’t get to be ashamed of an experience that changed your life. He doesn’t get to be apologetic. He doesn’t get to rewrite that past. “But it did, didn’t it?”

“But did it?” He seems to be confused. It’s unknown territory, way past your usual flirty banter. It’s safe to say that he simply is confused, and you are breaking. You’ve worked so hard to still be regarded as nothing.

You close the folder, you weren’t seeing it anyway, and you straighten to finally look at Jongdae. He is looking at you intently, and while you recognize the heat of that stare, you finally realize that you don’t care anymore.

“I want to see you, Jongdae.” You say, voice dropping to familiar drawl, and you can see him relaxing into his seat.

“You are seeing me, right now.” He answers, voice matching your inflection, but he doesn’t _understand_ you.

“I want to _see_ you, Jongdae.” You repeat breathlessly, and he is confused once more. But you are not going to lead him by his hand, he is a big boy, he should get it on his own. You reach under your skirt, for once happy that you decided to wear stockings, under Jongdae’s vigilant stare, and you let your underwear slide down your legs, which is welcomed with a choked sigh.

“Why now?” His voice breaks a little, and you straighten. He is taking off his jacket, folding it over the back of his chair. Bad place. You want to fuck him on top of that chair.

“Because I had enough.” You answer truthfully, not bothered enough to make that sound sexy. Not anymore. You take off your own jacket, leaving it on his desk.

It seems to be enough for Jongdae, and he hurriedly takes off his tie, and rolls his sleeves up. It’s amazing how he seems to know exactly what you want to hear or see. It’s been true for all those years and it’s true even now.

He opens his pants as you walk around the desk, and he takes his dick out. Even though you asked to see it, as soon as you reach the chair, you drag your skirt up, kicking your heels off, and you climb up on the chair, Jongdae’s hands coming out to secure you, your left hand on his shoulder, right on his arm, with both his hands on your waist. He is looking down, mouth slightly open as you sink onto his cock. It’s too soon. You didn’t give yourself time to realize that there is going to be intercourse. It was intentional, so you couldn’t talk yourself out of it. You don’t have enough lubrication, and the friction is borderline painful.

But you couldn’t wait long enough, in fear that you wouldn’t do it. And you know that if it wasn’t now, it would never happen. That’s why you didn’t even bother with condoms. If you voiced that particular concern and he didn’t have a package at hand the moment would be gone.

So that’s why you he is sliding into you dry, unprotected, and yet you don’t feel scared, or even anxious. You are satisfied. You are satisfied with his dick inside you, his fingers digging into your sides, his mouth hanging open, and his eyes fixated down, on his cock disappearing inside you.

You sit down, batting away tears of pain threatening to appear. You are so close to Jongdae, and yet you feel so distant. He has his eyes closed, expression quite blissful. You appreciate his face, now that he can’t see you stare – sharp edges, prominent bones, straight eyebrows, curled lips. There are few more wrinkles on his face, compared to the boy you’ve met during the interviews, but that’s to be expected.

His eyes doesn’t open even when you raise up. Maybe he is thinking about somebody else. Maybe you misread the signals. Maybe he never wanted to fuck you, but welcomed the opportunity. It doesn’t matter, not anymore.

You sink down, friction still on the painful side, but it’s surprisingly awakening. You don’t have much room for movement, and plastic armrests are digging into your knees, but soon enough you find a grinding rhythm that seems to agree with both you and Jongdae.

Suddenly Jongdae opens his eyes, and he is so close, too close to be comfortable, and his eyes fall on your lips, and you realize you don’t want to kiss him.

You stand up abruptly, his dick leaving your body with obscene sound, and you push the swivel chair against the wall in the process, and Jongdae starts to protest, but you turn around, your skirt now gathered around your waist, and you grab his dick to sink down like that.

Now instead of his face you see his office.

He worked hard to get it.

Did he hear that he whored his way up to the top?

There are lips on the column of your neck, and you hate it. You hate this whole thing, but you raise again, trying to find that good rhythm back. Jongdae slides down a little on the chair, his legs spreading yours and he thrusts up, with his feet firmly planted on the floor.

It kicks the air out of your lungs, and you fall forward, resting your hands against his thighs, and he really starts to work now. Your hair is sticking to your neck, your white shirt now see-through, so soaked with your sweat.

You are quiet, and it a sign of your temper shimmering underneath your skin. You are not going to lose control, you’ve worked too hard for you to just let go.

He seems to be matching your mood. In your weaker moments you imagined him to be vocal. Maybe screamer. But definitely moaner or groaner. You suspected him to be a dirty talker, but he is silent, as much as he can be anyway, and it irks you more. Does he sense your anger? Is it his way to pacify you? Or maybe he doesn’t even care as long as he get to fuck you?

His teeth are scraping your neck, and you want to swat him away. He is starting to move faster, less regularly. He is growing wild, searching his orgasm, and you wish you could join him, but you can’t, not like that, not that fast.

He is coming before you know – he feels harder, bigger maybe, and you can’t really place it, but then there is less friction, it’s wetter, slower, and he groans into your shoulder.

You actually feel defeated. You brought him over. Good for him, really, but it once again feels like if you’ve gotten the short stick. He is breathing heavily into your back, and you resent him in that moment.

He couldn’t even bring you over.

You start to feel the wetness on your labia minora – he has came inside you and now it’s starting to sip out. _Great_. You’ve had enough, and you start to stand up, but Jongdae grabs you, and hold down.

“Wait.” He rasps, and you want to fight, but then one of his hands goes down to your clitoris, and you are so tender that it immediately brings your pleasure back. “Just let me…”

He groans as he pushes into you. You can’t see his face, but you are quite sure he winces. He is spent, oversensitive, but he still pushes into you. It probably feels as painful as the beginning of this intercourse felt for you.

You don’t really thing about that – his pained whisper seems to double fold your arousal. Suddenly you are gripping armrest, the other hand keeping his hand between your legs. He tries to stand up, to push you against the desk, probably to have more space to work with, but you don’t let him. You won’t him over you, you won’t let him get on top of you, even if that means you get to come quicker.

It doesn’t take you that long to start whimpering, because you can’t help yourself. Those quiet sounds seem to give him enough strength to keep going, and he does even if the penetration is not nearly enough, but it’s still a nice counterpoint to his thumb on your clitoris.

You skin your nails in his hand, when you finally _finally_ come. Jongdae did it, he managed to bring you over, and although you can’t see his face, you feel like he is relieved when you reach your orgasm.

Which makes you feel like you owe him something, because he suffered like that those last few minutes.

Which you hate, because you don’t owe him anything.

You realize you are leaking on his pants, and you try to remember if you have a pad or even a tampon in your bag. You still have to go home, and you don’t want to be leaking all the way back.

Jongdae hisses painfully when you stand up, but you ignore him. You reach for tissues on his desk and you gently tap your face, hopeful that your makeup is at least _partially_ intact, and then you use a second one to wipe yourself. You find your underwear and you put it on, straightening your shirt, and putting on the shoes.

When you are done, you put on your jacket and fix your hair.

All this time Jongdae is sitting in the chair, staring at you thoughtfully.

“If you ever need me,” he says, when you turn to the doors,” I have your back.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You are not even sure what is it supposed to mean.

“Goodbye, Jongdae.” You say instead, and you walk out of the room, leaving sex-stinking office, your anger and Jongdae behind you.

 


End file.
